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IN HEINE'S GARDEN 

BY 
THEODORA ADELHEID THOMSON 



WITH A DECORATION 

BY 

J. WESLEY LITTLE 



WILLIAMSPORT 
1915 






copyright by 

Theodora Adelheid Thomson 

1915 




PRESS OF 

The Gazette and Bulletin 
w1lliamsp0rt, pa. 



CI.A418150 



DEC 23 1915 



Aus alten Maerchen winkt es 
Hervor mit weisser Hand ; 
Da singt es und da klingt es 
Von einem Zauberland 



IN HEINE'S GARDEN 



The mists have cleared that wrapped the sombre 
woods for days ; 

A watching robin chants with all his might ; 
The patient fields lie still, beneath the sunset flush 

That stains the moving clouds with rosy light : 
The hills stand up against a reredos of flame, 

Mute sentinels that guard from vulgar sight 
The royal, sacrificial offering that day 

Brings to the altar of the coming night. 



IN HEINE'S GARDEN 



II 

Darting from his silken nest, 
Quivering in the scent-filled air, 
Dipping in the rose's breast. 
Flashing here and flashing there — 

Flies the humming bird along, 
Gleaming like the sun and sea — 
Scattering, in lieu of song. 
Bursts of visual melody. 



IN HEINE'S GARDEN 



III 

A dying rose's petals once I cast 

Unthinking, on the softly moving air, 

Which bore them, where a crooning river passed, 

And dropped them lightly on its bosom fair. 

Lapped by the waves, their slackened petals curled, 
Then floated on — a fleet of crimson ships — 
Exhaling perfume where the eddies swirled, 
Sweet as a maiden's unsurrendered lips. 



IN HEINE'S GARDEN 



IV 

Dear butterfly, beyond the grape-vines, 
In the radiant morning light 
Showing, 'gainst the crimson roses. 
As a drifting speck of white, 

Tossed about by careless breezes — 
Like hawthorn floating in the air — 
Though the roses last till autumn 
Thou, to-morrow, wilt be where? 



IN HEINE'S GARDEN 



The Northwind blew across my garden fair, 
His icy hands stripped all the branches bare ; 
Where'er he breathed the flowers knew decay 
And lost a summer's glory in a day. 

But lo ! on all the drooping heads appears 
A mist-born veil, as if of frozen tears : 
Kissed by the sun, behold, my garden gleam. 
Bright answers flashing to each ardent beam. 



IN HEINE'S GARDEN 



VI 

By the shore where my garden endeth, 
And the pebbles glow like pearls, 
I saw the breakers uprearing 
To fall into eddying swirls. 

Sheer masses of strong green water, 
Driven on by the masses behind, 
And casting their spray, like favors, 
On the breast of the following wind. 

They break, that foam may be fashioned 
Of the wrack of their strength and might- 
Foam flowers, as evanescent 
As dream-faces, seen in the night. 



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IN HEINE'S GARDEN 



VII 

I breathed upon the winter window-pane 
And quickly, as by magic hand, 
Was born a tiny mountain-chain 
That grew into a fairyland — 

A wilderness of frosty lines 

With crags and castles, half revealed. 

Behind the minaret-shaped pines 

That steep and thread-like paths concealed 

And silver ferns and flowers bloomed, 
Near where a giant rock-rift showed 
Where distant haunted caverns gloomed. 
And where, — but ah ! the sunbeams glowed. 



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IN HEINE'S GARDEN 



VIII 

Lean-limbed and gaunt against the shifting tide, 
Of cloud and sky, that turns from gold to lead, 
A lonely pine rears on the mountain side, 
Austere and gloomy, his unbending head. 
Slow winds, that through his dark green needles 

blow, 
Chant sombre songs of dead idolatries ; 
And 'neath his branches wander, to and fro, 
Unformed desires and vague mysteries. 



12 




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